Coming of the Dawn
by AragornofRedwall
Summary: The second of my Merlin endings. I hope this one meets your expectations.
1. Chapter 1: The Blood of Camlan

Merlin Series Five Episode Thirteen:

_Coming Of The Dawn_

**_A/N: _As promised, here is the second of my endings to Merlin. I hope it's up to snuff. **

* * *

Chapter One: _The Blood Of Camlan_

As the the storm raged outside, the children huddled at the feet of their father's chair, which was placed within a safe distance of the cozy hearth. Upon his lap sat the youngest, a lad barely a year old. From left to right at his feet say the others, two girls and a boy, ages eight, ten, and eleven. All of the children had their father's blue eyes, and three of them dark hair. The eldest, the boy nearest the fire, had hair redder than blood, and his siblings (and parents) often wondered from what distant ancestor he had inherited his fiery scarlet locks.

Their mother came into the room, bearing a tray of hot tea for the children, hot milk for the baby, and mulled wine for herself and the father. She passed them out to the grateful tikes, and sat down behind them, the girls nuzzling up against the welcoming warmth of her flowing dress.

"And now, my children, would you like to hear a story?"

"Oh yes please father," the three answered in unison, and even the babe cooed upon his father's lap.

"What story shall I tell? That of Kilgarrah, the Great Golden Dragon? Or perhaps the life story of Gaius the Healer?"

"No father!" they all cried.

"Tell us of the Great King Arthur!" they all pleaded.

The father's eyes twinkled.

"Are you sure you want to hear that one again?"

"Yes father! Oh please do tell us!"

The eldest boy was especially hopeful, for though he had heard the tale a hundred times before, he never tired of hearing the story of the mighty King Arthur and his Greatest Battle.

"Very well then, my dears. Arthur it is!"

The children bounced up and down with excitement as their father began.

* * *

The great sorcerer looked down upon the blood-soaked Plain of Camlan. The army of Camelot was sorely pressed by Morgana's seemingly endless horde of Saxon warriors, led on by the treacherous Mordred. Aithusa, the White Dragon flew high over top Arthur's beleaguered men, raining fire down upon their heads.

His first opponent was Aithusa. She looked straight at him as she rained down death into the Camelotian ranks. With a voice loud as thunder, Emrys rebuked the White Dragon.

"Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!"

With a roar of rage, the dragon fled the field, compelled to obey by the power of the Dragon Lord. With a flash of lightning, a whole battalion of the Saxons fell. Arthur stared up the mountain at the mysterious figure who single-handedly turned the tide of the battle. Lifting Excalibur high above his head, the king cried out:

"For the love of Camelot!"

Not in vain did Arthur run on, for the whole of his men hurried along behind, roaring with the hope of victory.

Emrys smiled.

"_Now for my main target: Mordred." _

With a speed and agility far beyond his years the sorcerer bounded down the mountainside, intent upon only one figure in the midst of the rolling chaos. There, surrounded by a dozen of the Knights of Camelot, stood Mordred, hacking and slashing for all he was worth. In the blink of an eye, all twelve of his opponents flew high into the air, landing with bone-crushing force on the hard rocks below them.

Emrys looked to his left. There, high upon a ledge, stood a proud and defiant Morgana. In an instant her eyes met his own, accompanied by a terrified shriek.

"Emrys!"

With a flick of his wrist the sorcerer flung Morgana from the ledge and into the valley below. Now that the mistress had been incapacitated, it was time to stop the servant. He hurried up the valley, Saxons falling in his wake.

He rounded a slight bend in the path. There, to his relief, he saw Arthur, alive and well, bent over a dying knight. Then, to his horror, he saw Mordred step from the mist that hung low over the valley.

"Arthur! Behind you!"

Whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, no man knows. Perhaps the sorcerer had done enough. Perhaps the Druids had been wrong in their predictions. For whatever reason, the prophecy failed. Arthur's grave was not to be dug upon that scarlet field.

As Emrys cried out, Arthur spun 'round, swinging Excalibur before him. Enchanted blade or no, this time its work was swift and sure; as Arthur recovered from his stroke, Mordred's head rolled from his shoulders. His limp body fell to the ground, Arthur's Bane defeated at last.

Arthur turned to Emrys.

"I know not why you helped me, but you have my thanks, and the thanks of all Camelot. Farewell."

The sorcerer inclined his head in return as Arthur turned towards his camp, seeking now his wife and comrades, ready to plan his army's next move. Perched on a ledge once more, Emrys watched him depart down the valley, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"You have won this battle Emrys, but I shall win the war."

The warlock turned to the Priestess that stood behind him.

"What war, Morgana? Your champion is dead, your army destroyed. You have wasted so much time trying to claim your revenge. Will you now leave Arthur to rule the kingdom he has built?"

"The throne of Camelot is mine by right."

"Maybe once, but you forfeited any claim you might have made long ago."

Her eyes flashed, cold and determined.

"I may have lost this battle Emrys, but you have lost your life!"

With a terrible rending noise, a crack appeared in the earth beneath him, fire leaping forth in an all-consuming blaze. The sorcerer leapt to a nearby ledge, closing the crack with a blow from his staff. Then, lifting the rod high over his head, Emrys called down a terrible storm upon his foe. Thunder roared, rain lashed her back in torrents, the wind whipping her hair about her face and blinding her. With a cry she knocked him off his feet, distracting his focus and ending his spell.

As he hit the ground, Emrys panted, knowing that he could not retain this form for much longer. To conserve his strength he let the aged form fall from him, the beard now gone, his hair dark and short once more.

"Weakening, old friend?" Morgana queried, her voice dripping with sarcasm and hate.

Emrys grinned.

"Not quite yet, old friend!"

With a flick of his head, he threw Morgana to the ground, buying himself time enough to stand again. Then, with a rage-filled shriek, the enraged Priestess dived for his legs and the pair of them tumbled into the abyss.

* * *

Emrys lifted his head with a groan. He and Morgana had fallen at least a hundred feet or more, the rocks leaving gashes and bruises on their limbs. Picking himself up, he saw that Morgana had landed not five feet away from him, near Mordred's headless corpse. Then he saw it.

When Mordred had fallen, his body had landed at an odd angle, and his hand caught in a crevice in the rock, his sword pointed straight up. When Morgana finally ended her fall, it was not the ground she landed on, but the blade of Mordred's sword, the tip of which portruded from her ribcage.

She lay there, panting hard, her chest heaving as her punctured lungs struggled to obtain the air she needed. She lifted a hand to him.

"Help me Emrys. Please."

The sorcerer shook his head sadly.

"There is nothing I can do. You know the power of a blade forged in the breath of a dragon as well as I do. You have been hung in your own noose Morgana, and there is nothing I can do."

"There is one thing I would ask of you then."

"What?"

"Bury me. Do not leave my corpse to the wolves."

Emrys' eyes were cold.

"Please."

He sighed heavily. Even now, there was pity in his heart for the bitter creature before him.

"That courtesy I can give. Be at peace."

For one moment, one split second, a look of something akin to gratitude entered her eyes. Then, with a shudder and a groan, the life left her body. The sorcerer limped a safe distance away. Then he raised his hand.

Lightning cracked; thunder rolled; a bolt of lightning struck the mountainside. Down it came, a rushing torrent of dirt and rocks poured into the valley. Such a grave as that has never been seen since. Morgana and her champion lay buried beneath one hundred tons of rock.

"_That's it then. It's over."_

Wearily he turned away, only to stop, his mouth open in shock. There, before him, not thirty yards away stood Arthur, surprise and doubt and fear carved indelibly into the lines of his face.

"Merlin?"

* * *

_**A/N: **_**I know, I know, I wrote you a cliff-hanger. But at least I'll give you an actual resolution within a day or two!**


	2. Chapter 3: My Thank-Yous

Well, after the response I've gotten, I thought it right and proper to say a thank you or two.

To CoolCat15, Gwenneth, and Diddleymaz my warmest thanks and gratitude. I'm honoured that you thought so highly of my humble work.

To all of you who favourited and followed this story my undying thanks. I am both pleased and relieved to know this story met the expectations of my fellow fans.

I may or may not write another _Merlin_ tale or two, though, in justice, I have to finish _Outcast _and its sequel first.

God bless you all my friends, and to all of you the Happiest of New Years!

-Jake/AoR


	3. Chapter 2: The Dawn Breaks

Chapter Two: _The Dawn Breaks_

"What happened next father?" the youngest girl asked.

"Hold on a moment dearest, while your mother makes more tea."

The storm continued its roaring and cracking, cruelly lashing rain against the windows of the cozy room. The baby had long since been put in his crib, warmly bundled against the chilly night air. The father piled more logs onto the fire, using the nearby poker to stir up the orange embers.

The mother returned, three piping hot cups of tea and two goblets of mulled wine upon her tray.

"Thank you m'dear," the father said, kissing his wife's cheek. He then turned and settled himself in his chair once again.

"Now, where were we?"

* * *

Merlin (for as you children know, Emrys _**was **_Merlin) limped cautiously forward.

"Arthur-"

Before Merlin could get any further, the King turned on his heel and stomped away. With a sigh, Merlin followed him. When he reached the edge of the camp, he found Gaius waiting for him.

"The king stormed into camp and into his tent without speaking a word to anyone, not even to the Queen. Am I right in my assumption as to the cause of his anger?"

Merlin hung his head.

"Yes. I had to drop my disguise to beat Morgana. I thought he'd gone, but-"

His voice trailed off as Gaius patted him encouragingly on the shoulder.

"Come, we must tend your wounds."

An hour or so later, Guinevere entered the healing tent.

"The King wishes to speak to you, Merlin."

Merlin nodded as he stepped towards the tent-flap.

"Merlin?"

He turned back to Gwen. She took his hand reassuringly.

"Whatever Arthur may say, I know you saved his life. Thank you."

A grin stole onto Merlin's face as he left the tent.

* * *

The King was leaning against a table, arms folded in front of him, a half-eaten apple in his right hand. His armour was gone, replaced by his usual white linen shirt, though Excalibur was tucked firmly into his belt.

"Are you angry?"

"Angry? Why should I be angry? I just found out that, not only is my servant a sorcerer, but that he has been lying to me since the first day we met."

Arthur's voice was cold, but calm. He took a bite of apple and munched for a moment.

"Tell me, Merlin, what I should do with you."

"I – I don't know."

"Well, if I were my father, you'd be burnt at the stake."

Merlin winced.

"Fortunately for you, I am not my father."

Merlin's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why all this deception? Why did you never tell me?"

"I didn't want to put you in the position you're in now."

"But why all these years as my servant? Risking your life; breaking the law; for what?"

"It is my duty to protect and serve you. If fulfilling my destiny meant all that, then it was worth it."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. He started to speak when Leon entered the tent.

"Forgive me Sire, but Gwaine and Percival have sent back word."

Arthur lifted his eyebrows and inclined his head.

"The Saxons are in full retreat, Sire, and they've no one to rally them. If we press them now they will be routed completely."

Arthur turned to look at the map on the table behind him, pondering his next move carefully. He motioned Leon over.

"Tell Percival to move his patrol through the pass here. If he moves quickly, their retreat will be cut off. Gwaine is to press them on into Percival's trap and await the dawn. You will proceed to reinforce him at once with two-hundred men. I will follow with the rest of the army in the morning."

Leon bowed and left the tent, and Arthur turned back to Merlin.

"I have to press our advantage at once. I will make my decision concerning you when this is over. Until then, you are free to do as you please."

"When do you want your armour?"

Arthur looked surprised, but he answered quickly enough.

"I'll need it by dawn."

"Better get to work then."

With no more adieu, Merlin strode over to where the armour lay, and began mending the dents in the plate.

* * *

A red sun rose in the East, the clouds and mountains glowing pink in the predawn light. Merlin gingerly helped Arthur into the armour that had taken over half the night to repair.

"You sent Leon ahead with two-hundred men," Merlin stated matter-of-factly. "How many do Gwaine and Percival have?"

"The same a-piece."

"And how many do you have?"

"Counting Gwaine's and Leon's..."

Merlin waited patiently, as Arthur's voice trailed off.

"If Gaius' casualty list is correct, then counting Gwaine's and Leon's troops, I have eight-hundred men."

Arthur turned around.

"Why do you care anyway?"

"I just wanted to know if you needed my help."

Arthur shook his head.

"We now have Morgana's army in a worse position than ours was in yesterday. I rather think we can handle them."

Merlin nodded quietly. Arthur made for the tent-flap, but stopped halfway.

"Look-"

He turned halfway 'round.

"Yes?"

Arthur sighed.

"Never mind."

And with that, Arthur left the tent, Merlin trailing behind.

* * *

Arthur's march had been uneventful but slow. Thanks to Morgana's grave, the pass through Camlan was less than half its former size, and once they reached the end of the pass, the ground was rocky and hard -so hard, in fact, that it broke many of the iron shoes right off the horses' hooves.

Chagrined at this further delay, Arthur reluctantly gave the order:

"Dismount and proceed on foot. And watch where you step!"

Cautiously the men proceeded onward, careful not to impale their own feet on the rocks which they'd spared the horses. Onwards they trudged through a dreary rain that made the going even harder.

"Blast this rain," Arthur muttered.

About noon the drizzle worsened into a downpour. It seemed as though the heavens wept for all the boys that lay dead on the plain behind them. They reached Gwaine's position about 3-o'clock. True to form, he and Leon were teasing one another as they inspected their lines.

As Arthur's exhausted men filed into position, many of them collapsed on the ground, seeking what little sleep they might steal before the battle that would end the war. Merlin and Gwaine watched quietly as Leon gave Arthur a detailed description of the situation.

"Percival is in position on the other end of the pass, and we've been skirmishing with the Saxons all day. Scouts report that the ground on our right is steep, but not too steep to climb. The ground on our left is a sheer cliff face; no one cuold climb that."

Arthur smiled.

"Then I'll place my men on your right. We'll have them blocked in on three sides with nowhere to run."

Merlin stepped forward.

"Sire?"

Arthur turned.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps you could give the men a few hours' sleep before moving them? Many of them are too tired to stand, let alone climb."

Arthur thought for a moment.

"Not only that, but it'll be dark in four hours time."

He looked at Leon.

"You say you've been skirmishing with them all day?"

"Yes Sire, we've been at it since first light."

Arthur's smile widened.

"Then they'll be far too tired to fight tonight."

Merlin grinned in spite of himself. Perhaps it would be _**that **_easy after all.

* * *

To everyone's surprise, it _**was **_that easy. For the first and only time, one of Arthur's battles went exactly according to plan. The knights moved in captured the whole lot of them. Not a single man resisted. Arthur paroled them all on condition that they never again attack the kingdom of Camelot, and, to my knowledge, not a one of them has from that day to this.

A week later, Merlin was called into the King's chamber.

"Well Merlin, I have made my decision."

"Yes, Sire?"

"I have decided to punish you in the harshest way I can think of."

Merlin gulped.

"I have decided to replace you as my servant."

Merlin blinked.

"Speechless, are you? Yes, I know it's awful, but that fellow George is much more reliable than you."

Arthur padded over to the window and peered out.

"Besides, I am quite certain he's not a sorcerer. The man is far too dull."

Merlin chuckled at his friend's reasoning.

"But that's not the whole of it."

Arthur strode over to Merlin and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Since you are no longer my servant, and because I don't want you just lounging about the castle-"

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"- I've decided to appoint you to a different position. A _new _one, in fact. Care to hear what it is?"

"Of course."

"I have chosen to make you my Court Magician."

"Your what?" Merlin asked in shock.

"My Court Magician. It has rather a nicer ring to it than 'sorcerer', I think. It certainly has less stigma surrounding it."

"Does this mean..."

"That magic is no longer outlawed? I suppose it must, now mustn't it? It would hardly be fair for me to let you do it and not let everybody else."

Merlin looked his friend in the eye, his own sparkling with joy as the pair of them laughed.

"I should go tell Gaius."

"Of course."

Merlin had his hand on the doorknob when Arthur spoke again.

"And Merlin? One more thing."

"Yes, Sire?"

Arthur held out his hand.

"Thank you."

* * *

"And that, my dear ones, is how I came to be the Court Magician."

The eldest son sat with rapt attention as his father finished his tale. The girls and the mother had long since fallen asleep, nuzzled warmly together under a woolen blanket. Merlin (for the father _**was **_Merlin) rose and paced to the window, his son in tow.

He looked out at the clear sky, light streaming into the room behind him. He turned and tousled his son's fiery hair.

"Come. We'll get breakfast ready for everyone."

The two of them stepped gingerly past the sleeping figures into the nearby kitchen, which was soon filled with the scent of bacon and eggs and mushrooms, all in a frying pan.

_The End_

* * *

_**A/N: **_**And so we come at last to the ending we had all hoped for. All is well in Camelot, and Albion flourishes in her Golden Age. Thanks kindly for reading.**

**I owe my deepest thanks to Clive Staples Lewis for allowing me to borrow the "bacon and eggs and mushrooms all in a frying pan". **

**God bless, and a Happy New Year to all,**

**-AoR/Jake**


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